


The Fall

by Sauronix



Category: Suikoden V
Genre: Adult Content, Experimental, Explicit Language, M/M, Melodrama, Sexual Content, old fic, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix/pseuds/Sauronix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scholarly articles, letters, and personal reminiscence chronicle interpersonal struggles in the last days of the Dragon Cavalry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written about ten years ago after a summer spent reading "House of Leaves" and listening to entirely too much doom metal. I wanted to try something different with my fiction, and as a result, this story is a little weird. There are some textbook clippings from the future, from the point of view of scholars looking back at the fall of the Dragon Cavalry, but the bulk of it is from Rahal's point of view (second person). There's a little bit of epistolary action from Craig, too.
> 
> The text has been cleaned up a little, but it's otherwise untouched. It can be difficult to follow. But it represents a time in my life when I felt incredibly free with my writing and remains some of my favourite work.

**Except from _Closed Waters: A History of Sauronix and her Leaders_ , Chapter 15: “Craig Laden, his successors, and the fall of the Dragon Cavalry”, page 267:**

_We can only conclude, upon consideration of this data, that splitting the Dragon Cavalry between Sauronix and the Sun Palace was Falena’s first and greatest mistake._

_In spite of this, the early years of Rahal’s command showed a great deal of promise. His most famed contribution to the Dragon Cavalry was the inclusion of women amongst its ranks. A failed attempt to arm the dragon horses with mail can also be attributed to him; but of greater importance — and with uncertain ramifications — was his agreement to install a unit of fifty men at the Sun Palace. The logic behind this decision is forever lost to history. It has been suggested, however, that the division was an attempt to free the Dragon Cavalry from the immobilization suffered by Commander Laden during the Falenan Civil War of IS 449. For a detailed discussion of the topic, see page 593._

_While Rahal was occupied with the necessary reforms at Sauronix, his friend and partner Roog was installed as commander of the unit at the Sun Palace. Correspondence from the time gives us insight into his character: sturdy, gregarious, of good humour and strong will, but given to bouts of ill-temper. He no doubt possessed many qualities expected of a strong leader, but it was precisely his temper and his inability to employ rational thought at times of crisis that prevented him from achieving the success enjoyed by his predecessors._

_Nevertheless, there is little evidence to suggest that his performance as commander in the early years was anything less than satisfactory. Indeed, it is quite likely, as historical documents have shown, that the Cavalry might have prospered under his rule and Rahal’s had it not been for events that unfolded sometime in late IS 458._

*

In your darkest hours, you think back to that first letter Craig wrote you, when you expressed to him your fears about becoming commander. When you dared to tell him that the physical distance between you and Roog had forced an emotional distance to match it.

_Inevitably, your friends will discover that you don’t have time to return their love — only they mistake it for utter lack of the emotion. This is what it means to be commander: to wait always, and forget what it means to be lonely — and that, perhaps, is the real tragedy. But I know you are strong enough to carry this burden, just as you know I’m here to share it. Yours always, Craig._

*

 _He’s cold_ , the townspeople say, when they think you can’t hear them. _Thirty-six now, and look at him. Still no wife. He must be deficient somehow. He must be heartless, or dickless, or both._  
  
But you do hear, because you’re the commander, and it’s your job to know what’s being said around town. One way or another, the gossip always makes it back to you — who’s fucking who in the stables, who’s pissed in the new recruit’s boots, who’s been pinching bread and cheese from the kitchen stores well after the toll of the curfew bell. 

And what you’ve gleaned from their chatter is this: you’ve fallen so far down the popularity ladder that your ass has hit rock bottom.  
  
That’s just the thing, though, you do have a heart, and you do know what it means to love, only you don’t choose to put it or your cock in a place they’d think appropriate. So you keep your mouth shut, wipe your face blank, and continue this façade of the automaton. It’s best that they never know, even though you think they should, because your little stunt at Gordius was no secret to anyone. 

There is no proof, though, so they say nothing, except when they think your back is turned. You’re not a man prone to hatred, but you despise them for their flapping gums all the same.  
  
You think of Craig’s words, and wish you had more time.

*

With luck, you do find a little time, wrapped in silk and stale perfume and the cradle of Roog’s sun-browned arms. Together you dance the night away and no one around you is the wiser, because you’re a beautiful woman and he’s a beautiful man, and the Sol-Falenan court’s not interested in substance, but appearance. They’re happy to take your plucked brows and lead-painted cheeks at face value, but they don’t want to know how he later ploughs your ass into the mattress with his voice panting your name, your inescapably masculine name, against the screaming ecstasy of the night.

*

A messenger, young and clean-shaven, hands you a folded, wrinkled scrap of paper. You open it.  
  
_Something’s come up. No visit this month. Roog._  
  
You think of Craig’s words, and cry when you know you’re alone once more.

*

 _People evolve_ , Craig writes, when you tell him of this development. _You’ve been his friend for thirty-some years. Perhaps it’s time to let go._

*

 _You know I’ll always love you_ , Roog says gently, when you tell him your fears.  
  
But you know nothing, for the future is uncertain.

*

What is the point of struggling, you ask, when you must hide what you are? When you must ache for days, for weeks, for months, when it is no sure thing that you will see him? What is the point, you ask, when you cannot simply be when you are with him? When you must shave your legs and stuff the bodice of your gown, when you must erase Rahal and become something else altogether just to spend five minutes by his side?  
  
Is it you he loves, or the woman you pretend to be?

*

Though your fears matter little when you receive a letter from Mahir, the royal doctor at the Sun Palace.  
  
_Dear sir; it is my duty to inform you that Sir Roog lately suffered an injury that has become grievously infected. His arm, now festering, must be removed at once. He is currently in no fit state to make the choice himself; I ask you to do what is right and save his life. If we wait much longer the infection will spread to his heart, and then he will be beyond my help. As ever, your servant, M._  
  
You go to him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Except from _Closed Waters: A History of Sauronix and her Leaders_ , Chapter 15: “Craig Laden, his successors, and the fall of the Dragon Cavalry”, page 291:**

_Letters exchanged between Rahal and the Sol-Falenan doctor in late IS 459 indicate that Roog did not initially agree to the amputation — nor, it seems, did he ever. His reasons for refusing medical treatment remain unclear, but letters from the time suggest that he harboured some insecurities with regards to Rahal’s appointment as commander of the Sauronix division of the Dragon Cavalry._

_Although few medical records survive from the time, historians generally agree that it was Rahal who allowed Mahir to go forward with the procedure. The fallout of this action was enormous. Roog was removed as commander and succeeded by Elaine, a young woman from Lordlake whose inexperience arguably contributed to the downfall of the Dragon Cavalry. On a personal level, Rahal’s decision led to a rift in his friendship with Roog that had serious repercussions during the war with Nagarea._

*

You watch the sweat bead on his upper lip, in the creases of his closed eyelids, and you go cold. You’re used to the gruesome, but it’s never been like this — no, never so personal. It’s always been someone else bleeding his guts out on the ground, someone else with a limb shaved clean off, someone else, someone else, always someone else.

Necessity long ago prepared you to face the worst because it is a soldier’s fate to die, be it you, your sister, or your friend. And that’s the kicker: you thought you were ready to let him go.  
  
You hear him scream through the bit, and know you were wrong.

*

He sleeps in fever-heat for three days, with the stump of his arm swaddled in white bandages. The first time you change them you nearly vomit when you see the bloody pits of cauterized flesh, but you tell yourself this can only get easier with time. It has to.  
  
You hold his hand when he finally wakes, and his fingers squeeze yours almost imperceptibly.  
  
_I’m sorry_ , you say.  
  
He stares at the high, arched ceiling and says nothing.   
  
With time, you convince yourself. A little time.

*

Craig’s advice, when you seek it, stings.  
  
_With such a severe degree of mutilation, he can no longer be trusted to lead the Dragon Cavalry. A strong man is needed — and strong though Roog may be, he is no longer whole. Would you follow such a man into battle? I trust you to make the right choice. Yours, Craig._

*

You begin the preparations to bring him home. The queen orders Roog’s removal at your request, and you choose Elaine, Roog’s second-in-command, to take his place. You write letters to Lun, arrange the boats that will take you back to Sauronix, file the papers needed to secure Roog’s temporary leave from the cavalry. You dress his wound three times daily and try to make conversation: _how are you doing? does it still hurt? are you glad to be going home?_ — and then there’s the unspoken _do you hate me?_  
  
You bite your tongue. You think you already know.

*

Lun greets you at Port Spinacks with tears in her eyes. She glances once at the space where Roog’s arm used to be, and all but throws herself against his chest. He nods at the stump and says, _You think this is bad? Wait’ll you see the bedsores on my ass_ , and she says, _Oh, yer awful_ , and then they’re best friends, walking arm-in-arm towards the dragon horses that will carry them back to Sauronix.  
  
This is how it goes. You resent them, at first, as he ignores you, as she chatters on blissfully unaware of the frigid silence between you. You lock yourself in your study every night with your papers and wine for company, and the combination is often enough to put you out of your misery.  
  
Craig warned you, long ago, that this was how it would be. But you’re sick of being alone.

*

Craig arrives when you need him most. At first, there are no words — you need no words, only the rush of long-buried desire you feel when he draws you into his sturdy leather warmth. Only the sweetness of his mouth and the rough skin of his palms.

You undress into your lovers’ clothes and fall into bed, with the world passing by, oblivious, just outside your window. After, you sit and talk — and that’s how it’s always been, the two of you, fucking and talking and drinking and _talking_. You tell this man everything, and that’s the beauty of it — you could bare your soul, all your hopes, your fears, every evil thought, and he’d never judge you.  
  
You could never talk to Roog like this, not anymore.  
  
That’s what scares you.

*

_You’re fucking Commander Laden._  
  
His cold, desperate voice makes you flinch.  
  
_So first you mutilate me, then you cheat? You son of a bitch._  
  
You’re strangely cruel about it. You say, _It took you long enough to notice_  and, _You’ve barely said two words to me since we came back_ and finally, worst of all, _I didn’t think you’d care_.  
  
But he does. You see the hurt register on his face.   
  
_How long has this been going on?_ he finally asks.  
  
_Ten years_ , you say, _on and off_.  
  
Roog’s eyes darken, like he’s figured something out.  
  
_Fuck you_ , he says. _Fuck you both._

*

You try to apologize the next morning — but he’s no longer there to forgive you.


	3. Chapter 3

For six months, you hear nothing. And you don’t miss him.  
  
You have your work, and Craig snoring (his broad shoulder with its curlicues of scar tissue peeking out from under the sheets) when you wake each morning. In other words, you’re keeping busy, just as you always have, and that missing him feeling is a bare flicker on the edges of your memory.   
  
The truth is, you don’t know what it means to miss him. What you had together was a few sporadic fucks every year. The remainder of your time was spent _waiting_ for the next sporadic fuck, for the next letter, subdued and sterile.  
  
When you were younger you had frog tossing and beer swilling and sleepless nights talking under the stars; as middle-aged men you had the meshing of bodies and very little else.  
  
You don’t miss him.  
  
Not the way you think you should.

*

He returns when you least expect it.

_Tonight_ , he whispers — but it’s really more of a hiss, the way his breath rattles in your ear. _Tonight. In our old meeting place, by the fence. You know the one._  
  
You don’t think to reply, what with this splintering wood carving scratches in your cheek, what with his hand fisted like a lead ball in the back of your shirt, what with the way his thick, sinuous body has you pinned up against the stable wall.

_Bring a practice sword,_ he says. _Be there._

_*_

_You don’t have to go,_ Craig says when you tell him. He takes your hand and you just want to fall into his arms, into _him_ — into some other life, where you can forget the ruins of now.  
  
_But I do,_ you say.

*

You find him where you’ve always found him, squatting by the old fence in the shimmering moonlight. He rises when you approach. The stump of his arm reminds you of a knuckle, round and smooth and hairless.  
  
_I won’t fight you,_ you say.  
  
His fist hits your face hard enough to knock you to the ground. You lie there, stunned, with the coppery taste of blood burning on your tongue.

*

It’s mostly a blur, the fight. It’s been _years_ since you fought like this, really grappled, years since the trainee practice ring and your fragile bodies crunching together at odd angles.   
  
You shudder when you feel the knobs of his spine slide under your fingertips. There’s the sweet warmth of his breath and the bitter musk of his armpit. There’s the sting of his nails in your skin, the thick constricting weight of his arm across your throat.  
  
There’s _you fucked your way to the top_ exploding from his mouth in a burst of heat and blood and spittle.  
  
You choke, and it all erupts into darkness.

*

Afterwards, you sit side by side on the fence. You wonder if he’s been carrying this bitterness inside him all these years — if he’s secretly hated you for your autonomy and your power. For achieving (through false means, he’d say) what he did not.  
  
You think of reaching out to touch him, of saying, _It wasn’t like that, Roog, I swear it_ , but he flinches when you lift your hand.   
  
So you sit, side by side, in impotent silence.  
  
_You could stay here,_ you finally say.  
  
He snorts. _Sure._  
  
_We’d find something for you to do._  
  
_I won’t stand around and watch you wallow in your victory._  
  
_Roog—_  
  
_Look, I can’t bear it, all right?_  
  
It’s a matter of broken pride, not a broken heart.  
  
That’s how you know it’s all over now.

*

When you go back to Craig, it’s like he already knows. He holds you without envy, his callused soldier’s hands stroking your hair. With his whiskey breath, he murmurs reassurances in your ear.  
  
You close your eyes and try to believe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Excerpt from _Closed Waters: A History of Sauronix and Her Leaders_ , Chapter 15: Craig Laden, his successors, and the fall of the Dragon Cavalry”, page 207:**

_The winter of IS 459 marked the end for the Dragon Cavalry. The Nagarists invaded Falena at the Sauronix border. Rahal rallied his troops — 6,000 strong — in the southern plains to meet them, but it was not enough. Records show that Commander Elaine of the Sun Palace division was absent from the battle (indeed, it is unknown whether Rahal even sent for reinforcements) and the Nagarist troops numbered close to 15,000._

_What followed was nothing short of a crushing defeat._

*

You wish Roog was here today.  
  
You trust yourself in battle. You lead with a steady hand and hardened mind, and your troops respect you for it — but you will never match his fire.  
  
And as you clasp your helmet, and fasten your greaves, and lace yourself into your leather breastplate, a cold weight settles in the pit of your stomach. It’s not that you’re afraid.  
  
It’s just that he’s not here to make sure you aren’t.

*

**Excerpt from _Closed Waters: A History of Sauronix_ , Chapter 15: "Craig Laden, his successors, and the fall of the Dragon Cavalry", page 209:**

_Fig. 287: Letter retrieved from the ruins of Sauronix Castle, c. IS 980._

_Roog,_

_This probably isn’t what you want to hear, and this may not even reach you, but I thought I had to try anyway. [Illegible] attacking and [illegible] run off again. [Illegible] you and the Commander had a falling out, but I’m asking you to put that aside and do the right thing. Come home. We [illegible]._

_[Unknown Source]_

*

Through the flurry of battle you see him, and he’s the image of everything you’ve lost. Shaved head, thick brows, strong jaw. Raw power. Your palms sweat as you watch him mow your army down, and you wonder how one man can be so full of hatred. You’ve heard the stories, believed the rumours, but it’s beyond your imagination that doctrine could lead someone to _this_.  
  
And he knows you somehow, this Nagarist general, when he turns and his eyes meet yours. There’s a savage smile and then he’s advancing, prowling, swinging, his blade shrieking as it glances yours.  
  
You stumble back and fall, and you hear a voice (Roog’s voice, the only voice) scream your name as the steel pins you down.

*

It’s strange how dying can change a man.  
  
You always thought you’d die with calm acceptance. Yes, there’d be blood and pain but there would be no fear. You’d be in death as you were in life — tranquil, quiet, aloof. You’d close your eyes and there would be peace. Blissful nothing.  
  
Reality is not so kind. Your dignity dissolves when there’s a blade thrust hilt-deep in your chest, belly, back. It’s pitiful, how you scramble around in the snow, trying to hold your guts in with one hand while your blood froths up into your mouth. You’re gargling nonsense and clinging to Roog like he can somehow save you.  
  
His fading face tells you everything you need to know. He can’t help you, not now.  
  
He just prays you die soon, as your blood washes over him.

*

When you’re gone, he carries your body back to Sauronix.  
  
He doesn’t cry; you always thought he would.  
  
You wish he would.  
  
He lays you down on your bed and looks at you for a long time. Just looks. The others, they come, they mourn, they go, but he stands there with a face like stone. This Roog, he scares you. This Roog, he’s beyond tears.  
  
But he grieves,  
  
_(you know i’ll always love you,_ he’d said)  
  
and it’s unlocked something dark inside him.  
  
  


 

 

  
  
He turns away, and you cease to be.

*

**Excerpt from _Closed Waters: A History of Sauronix and Her Leaders_ , Chapter 15: "Craig Laden, his successors, and the fall of the Dragon Cavalry”, page 228:**

_While troops stationed at Sol-Falena prepared for battle, there was a lull in the fighting near Sauronix shortly after Rahal’s death. Historians remain divided as to why. But based on surviving letters from the time, we can only surmise that Roog, in a last-ditch effort to save Sauronix, managed to hold off the Nagarist general long enough for the Cavalry to regroup._

_His efforts, ultimately, proved fruitless. Sauronix fell that same night, with Gordius soon to follow. Commander Elaine surrendered two days later, after a hard-fought battle just north of Port Spinacks. The Cavalry was effectively dismantled. See Section 9, p. 707, for further analysis of her military strategy._

_Roog was never seen or heard from again. It is assumed that he perished in the battle, but his remains were never recovered._


End file.
